Hans fought back the urge to stare at him. Was he joking? A German who didn’t drink beer? That was like a Frenchman who didn’t like food. Or a Brit that smiled. But Hans saw that he wasn’t joking. He shrugged it off and looked at the list on the back of the menu.
When the same waitress returned a few minutes later, smiling prettily at Hans, he had already decided what to have. In addition to a stein of beer, he ordered beer-glazed brats with sauerkraut and black bread. Adolf, who had barely glanced at the menu, asked for Roulade and red cabbage, with black coffee, no cream or sugar.
When the waitress walked away, Hans asked, “Is the Roulade here good?” That was one of his mother’s favorite dishes. Chopped bacon, onions, and gherkin pickles were mixed with Dijon mustard and rolled up in large, thin slices of beef, tied with string, and baked in the oven.
“Don’t know. Haven’t tried it before.” At Hans’s look of surprise, Adolf laughed. “I don’t have much money, but since it’s my birthday today, I’m going to splurge.”
“It’s your birthday? Really?”
“Ja. Really. My thirtieth. How old are you, Hans?”
“I turned twenty-three in February.”
“And a second lieutenant already? Do you come from a well-to-do family?”
“Me?” Hans laughed. “I’m the son of a Milchbauer, as my mother frequently reminds me. I was given a field commission for my part in the Battle of Berlin.”
“So a man of the soil. Is that what you will do when Munich is restored to normal?”
“No, my father wanted that, but I signed my inheritance over to my three sisters. The thought of milking cows for the rest of my life was more than I could stomach, so . . . I am planning to start a mechanic’s garage here, for trucks, in the Maxvorstadt District.”
Hitler slapped the table in delight. “This is marvelous! I did the same.”
“You are a mechanic?” Hans said in amazement.
“No, no. I am speaking of going against my father’s wishes. He was absolutely determined that I should also become a civil servant like he was, but I refused. We battled for years over it. But I wanted to do something meaningful with my life. At first I decided I wanted to be an artist. A painter.” He laughed at Hans’s expression. “Does that surprise you?”
“A little.”
“I went to art school in Vienna, but I discovered I had more of a talent for architecture, and so I determined that would be my career.”
Just then, the waitress returned. She set a large cup of steaming coffee in front Adolf and a foaming stein of beer in front of Hans. “So are you an architect, then?” Hans asked.
“Nein. I dabbled in art for a time, mostly to survive.” He gave a short bark of derisive laughter. “Mostly I learned what it was like to go without food. Hunger was my faithful bodyguard. It never left me for a moment. Hunger became my constant and pitiless friend.”
He stopped as he saw the look on Hans’s face. “Have you known hunger like that?”
“I have,” Hans replied quietly. “Not for long periods, but enough to know that it can consume your every thought, your every waking moment, your every longing and desire.”
Adolf sat back, pleased. “Exactly. But from it, I learned much about myself. It was then—I was sixteen at the time—that I came to realize my real passion lay elsewhere.”
“In politics?” Hans guessed. Then he smiled. “At age sixteen? All I cared about at sixteen was becoming an engineer and chasing a few skirts.”
Again, it was as though Hans weren’t even there.
“It consumed me. I read everything—history, government, newspapers, political journals. And the more I read, the more I realized that I had a passionate love for Germany and a burning hatred for forces that were destroying her. Under the Hapsburg monarchy, the Austrian-Hungarian Empire had turned its back on the German people and mingled the pure, Aryan blood with all kinds of inferior races and peoples—Poles, Hungarians, Slavs, Serbs, Bosnians.” He had to stop for breath. “Jews, Communists, Bosheviks, anarchists.”
He sat back, his chest rising and falling. “And that was when I realized that until my dying day, I will be a passionate—yes, even fanatical—German nationalist, who wants to spend his life restoring the Fatherland to its former grandeur and return us to our true Aryan roots.”
His eyes were hooded and seemed far away as he brooded over his thoughts. Hans studied him, fascinated by the intensity of the fire that burned in the man. It made him a little envious, he realized. Not because he wanted to be an ardent German nationalist—though he did agree it was a noble ideal—but because this man had found his cause, his dream, his way to change the world. But politics?
Hitler’s voice was quiet and thoughtful now. “That time in my life was pivotal in other ways.”
“How so?”
“Just before I turned sixteen, I developed a lung ailment and my mother took me out of school and sent me to my aunt’s house in a village where the air was good. Oh, what a glorious time that was. No school, no more battles with my mother. My father had died by this point, but she was determined to keep me on the path he had wanted for me. But that year, I was free to go my own way for a while.” There was a soft, self-derisive laugh. “In fact, that was the first and last time in my life that I ever got drunk.”
“What?” Hans blurted. “You’ve only been drunk once in your life?”
Embarrassed by his bluntness, Hans started to apologize. “I’m sorry, Adolf. It’s not that I’m doubting your word, but I think I was eleven the first time some friends and I stole some of my father’s beer and got fall-down drunk.”
Hitler seemed stunned that he had revealed that about himself. Then, very slowly and very seriously he said, “If I tell you something, will you swear never to tell anyone else?”
“I . . . Yes, I swear. I didn’t mean to sound like I was prying, Adolf.”
“It’s all right. It was an important turning point in my life. I went to a Bierhalle in another village and drank myself silly. The next thing I remember, I was lying facedown on this little country road near some village I didn’t even recognize. I had been sick and had puked all over myself.”
Hans winced but said nothing.
“I was so drunk, I couldn’t even get up. Then, thankfully, a milkmaid from a nearby farm came along. She saw me and took pity on me. She helped me up and took me back to my village. I was so ashamed of myself.” He was silent for a long moment before he looked up. “And on that day, I determined that I would become a teetotaler.”
It was just one shock after another. “You don’t drink any liquor?”
“None. Nor do I smoke.” He waved his hand in the air, making the cigarette smoke over their heads swirl. “It is a filthy habit. And I am seriously thinking of becoming a vegetarian.”
Just then, their waitress returned and placed their dishes before them. As she left again, Adolf looked at his steaming Rouladen, picked up his knife and fork, and began to cut into the meat. “But not tonight, Hans. Not tonight.”
9:15 p.m.
Hans took his last bite of cake, set his fork down, and pushed back his plate. “I surrender,” he said. He took a sip from his second stein of beer, which was almost half empty, and forced himself to stop there because he still had to drive home.
Adolf glanced up and smiled briefly and then went back to eating. Adolf was eating his cake methodically and with the same intensity that he went at everything.
“How does a restaurant manage to get food when the rest of the country is starving?” Hans wondered.
Finishing his last bite, Adolf sat back, wiping his mouth with his napkin. “As you can see, they cater to an army crowd. I’m guessing some of the higher brass have pulled some strings for them.”
“Figures,” Hans said. “The poor starve; the powerful get fat.”
Setting his napkin down, Adolf peered at him. “How did it go for you and your uncle at the board of inquiry the other day?”
“All right. Noth
ing much. It wasn’t like we knew any names of the perpetrators or key leaders. We were only there about fifteen minutes. How about you?”
“A big surprise, actually.”
“How so?”
“Not in the interviews. Like you, I didn’t have many specifics. But you know me; I couldn’t resist putting forth my views on what is happening and the root causes that need to be addressed.” He flashed a grin. “With considerable passion, of course.”
“And how did they take to that?”
“Oh, they listened politely. But, that afternoon, I had a messenger show up at the barracks. Turns out that someone was impressed enough with what I had said to share it with the higher-ups. That afternoon, I was called in and given a new job.” He was beaming now. “I am now assigned to the Press and News Bureau of the Political Department of the Bavarian District command.”
“Really! Just like that?”
“Ja, just like that. I’ll be writing press copy and maybe developing pamphlets.”
“I didn’t know the army had a Political Department. I thought they kept clear of politics.”
“With all the political chaos going on in the country, especially down here in the south, the brass have decided that if they don’t do something, we’ll end up like Russia. So they created this new department. One of the things they’re doing is conducting courses of ‘political instruction’ for all the troops to make sure they’re not swayed by all that left-wing drivel the Socialists are spouting. I’m surprised you haven’t heard about it.”
“You shouldn’t be. Remember, my battalion isn’t a local one. They’re coming down from Berlin. Rumor is we’re going against the Communists by the first of May.”
That didn’t seem to register. “Would a position in the Political Department interest you? My commanding officer told me to keep my eye out for promising talent.”
“Nope,” Hans said with a firm shake of his head. “I’m in until we get this Soviet Republic out of here. If we can get it done in a hurry, then I’m opening my garage.”
“I understand.” Adolf was still watching Hans closely. “So, if that’s the case, tell me how you came to be a lieutenant in a Berlin army battalion?”
“It’s a long story. Maybe another time. I probably ought to get going. We had more men sign up today, and I need to make sure they’re all processed and tucked into bed.”
Adolf immediately stood up. “I cannot tell you how much pleasure it gives me, Hans, that we have reconnected and become friends again.”
“I feel the same, Adolf. You have given me much to think about.”
“We shall meet again,” Hitler said. Then he clicked his heels together, gave Hans’s hand one curt shake, and turned and walked out, not waiting for Hans to follow. Hans stood there for a moment, smiling. He was different, that was for sure. By the time Hans got out to the street, Adolf was gone.
Chapter Note
Much of this reminiscing by Hitler comes from his autobiography, Mein Kampf, which he wrote while in prison for trying to overthrow the government in Munich in 1924 (see Mein Kampf, 30). Some of the dialogue here is taken from his own words. He told the story about the milkmaid and his first drunken outing much later in life (1942) to a group of Nazi intimates. After that experience he did become a teetotaler for life. He also never smoked, and at some point in his life he became a vegetarian (see Shirer, Rise and Fall, 14–15).
April 5, 1919, 6:48 p.m.—Provo Tabernacle, Provo, Utah
When Edie and Mitch arrived at the tabernacle, it quickly became obvious that it wasn’t just former missionaries and their wives who were coming in for the devotional. Throngs of older people were pushing their way to the door. It appeared as though the meeting had been opened up to any and all who wanted to come.
When Mitch and Edie saw how rapidly the tabernacle was filling up, they climbed up to the balcony and found a seat near the front that looked almost straight down on the speaker’s rostrum. “Is this okay?” Mitch asked his wife as they sat down.
She smiled. “This from the man who comes to church ten minutes early so he can get the back row? Are you sure you’re close enough?”
He ignored that, watching the crowd rapidly filling the seats on the main floor. Then he settled back and reached out and took her hand. “Sorry that we couldn’t bring the kids?” he asked.
She looked at him astonishment. “Surely, you jest.”
He laughed softly. “Don’t you miss them? I do.”
“So do I, but not enough to have them here. This has been wonderful. To get to go to the Salt Lake Temple for the first time. To see Salt Lake City. And the university here. I think we ought to see if we can get Frank up here. And Tina too, when the time comes.”
“I agree. Frank is so inquisitive. I think he would thrive there.”
Down below, a group of official-looking people were entering the hall from the west side. Mitch instantly recognized Jacob Reissner, and he was followed by President and Sister Valentine, who were smiling and waving as they entered. Three men followed them, and Edie recognized them as the three who had been introduced at the picnic as the presidency of the Provo Stake. They all took seats on the stand.
President and Sister Valentine looked up and waved. Mitch and Edie waved back. So did everyone else. She leaned a little closer. “How well did you know President Valentine?”
“Not as well as I would have liked. You have to remember that mission headquarters was in Switzerland, and I served mostly in northern Germany. So we didn’t see him for months at a time. But I served as a branch president in Hannover, so we did a lot of correspondence. The other thing to remember is that there were over three hundred missionaries. That’s a lot to keep track of.”
“Hmm.” Edie was studying Sister Valentine now. “She looks younger than I expected.”
“Sister Valentine? Oh, yeah. The president is three years younger than I am, and she’s probably that much younger than he is.”
“She’s a lovely woman.”
“And the perfect Mission Mother. When we first arrived at the mission home, she fed us warm cinnamon rolls and milk. Oh my, they were wonderful.”
The bottom floor was more than half full now, and the balcony was about the same. Only a trickle of people were still coming in. The clock showed 6:59. “Come on, Reissner,” Mitch murmured. “Let’s start on time.”
As if he had heard him, Elder Reissner leaned over to the president, got a nod, and stood up.
The preliminaries went quickly—a warm welcome, a few brief announcements, an opening hymn and prayer. When that was finished, Elder Reissner invited the stake president to say a few words. Wisely, he did just that. He took less than three minutes.
Next, Sister Valentine was invited to speak. She took six or seven minutes and delighted everyone. She was gracious, funny, and articulate as she spoke in English. They had arrived in Switzerland in 1912. When the war broke out, she and her husband stayed on to preside over the mission, even though he could only contact the German Saints by letter. They had remained until late 1916.
The hall went absolutely quiet when she told how the mission home in Basel was located right where the French, German, and Swiss borders came together. So France was right across the river, which meant that the mission home was only a few miles from the front lines. She described how they often could hear the distant rumble of artillery. One day, while out on the balcony, she had heard a sputtering sound and looked up to see an Allied airplane trailing smoke as it limped its way into Switzerland. In her mind’s eye, she pictured a very frightened young pilot desperately trying to get his plane to neutral territory so he wouldn’t be captured by the Germans. When she concluded with her testimony—given in German and with a generous amount of loving tears—she had a lot of people in the audience tearful as well.
As she sat down, Mitch whispered. “When she first arrived in the mission, she spoke no German at all. Now listen to her. She’s wonderful.”
President Valentine began almos
t without preamble, as if he were picking up an interrupted conversation. Gratefully, probably because he knew there were many family members in attendance who didn’t speak German, he spoke in English.
“My brothers and sisters, what a wonderful sight you are—you missionaries and your spouses. And all of you other wonderful Saints. How joyful it is to see so many of our German brothers and sisters here with us tonight. It warms my heart greatly.”
And with that, he got right down to business. “I am happy to report to you that Ella and I recently received a long letter from President Angus J. Cannon and his wife. I think that most of you know that the Cannons replaced us as mission presidents when we were released in late 1916. It has been their privilege to remain in Europe until now. President Cannon gave us an updated report on how the missionary work has gone since all of you were so unceremoniously pulled out of Germany and left the faithful Saints there to fare as best they can.
“Some members and leaders of the Church were sure that the work of the kingdom in Germany would wither and die when all of you American missionaries were withdrawn. And the worry was not just about the missionary work itself, but the very existence of the Church, because so many of you held key leadership positions in the districts and branches.”
Edie saw several of the brethren nodding, including her own husband.
“Some of those skeptics are here in Utah. Some are in the audience this night.” That caused a stir as people looked at each other in dismay. Who was he talking about? He smiled, but it was without humor. “I know that for a certainty, because”—he let it hang for a moment—“because I was one of them.”
As smiles appeared through the hall, President Valentine slapped the podium with the flat of his hand, making a sharp crack and startling many. “Well,” he suddenly thundered, “we . . . were . . . wrong! I was wrong, my brothers and sisters, and I apologize to you, and I apologize to the Saints in Germany and Switzerland for doubting their faith.
“Brothers and Sisters, the Lord knows what He is doing. And sometimes His mission presidents forget that. President Cannon reports that instead of the Church in Switzerland and Germany withering away as many feared, just the opposite is true. Church attendance is up. Our tithing and other offerings have actually increased, in spite of the tremendous hardships the war placed upon the people. Think of that. About five hundred members of the mission were called up for service in the war. But notwithstanding the fact that these breadwinners were taken out of the home, their wives continued to pay their tithes and offerings. That is astonishing. What faith! How could I have doubted them?”
Fire and Steel, Volume 2 Page 51
